Hass-Datum
by AvissAbyss
Summary: I couldn't help myself. Dirty Night Clowns was depressing me too much. ;n; Sequel to Krebs! Should be pretty fun and not very serious. KK needs a break. So do I. imsorrydonthurtme


**AN: SO MUCH FOR OMINOUS ENDING ASDFGHJKL!**

**. . .**

**Yeah, so I continued it because I'm a huge twatasaurus. And because I caaaaaaan lelelele~~**

**Buuuut I mostly did it because I had the idea for a while and the other fanfiction I'm writing, Dirty Night Clowns, is putting me in a really bad mood and I totes don't wanna kill myself before it's done. So I made this. It's gonna stay pretty light-hearted and goofy to even myself out.**

**SO ALL Y'ALL H8ERS BACK OFF!**

**No, I'm totally kidding. But I still hope you like it. I love you guys. (srslythoughbitblondetodayissupersweetandyoumakemylifeworthlivingthankyouyouarewonderfulineveryway)**

* * *

Two years, nine months, and sixteen days. That's how long it's been since our prom. And still, nothing has changed. We haven't taken any incredible leaps or anything. I mean, we only started dating three weeks ago. It took us _two years _to just start dating. I haven't dated anyone in the mean time, but he used to disappear a lot and I would never know where he went. He'd come home with puffy eyes and then tell me he wasn't in the mood for a movie and that he was just going to go to bed. That isn't really grounds for a relationship, but . . . It wouldn't surprise me at all if someone told me that he was trying to find comfort in someone else. And it wouldn't bother me, either. Well, it would, but only because it couldn't have been so healthy for him. Not because I was jealous. He doesn't belong to me. Although, thinking about it did hurt a little because we practically confessed our love for each other at the end of our prom night. But still.

So, I'm just sitting in my bed, all alone, thinking about different ways to go about this. He seemed so eager before. Then again, he was completely stoned. Or in a really messed up state of mind without needing drugs. My poor . . . Whatever I should call him. Shit, we don't even have nicknames for each other. _My _friends have given him nicknames. His friends, well, they don't know me very well. They don't really try to make an effort. I only know one on a less-than-strangers level and even then. He mostly just smiles at me and creeps me out. I mean, he's nice enough, but given their history, it's all just very strange. I feel pretty awkward about it. Sigh. I wish he would just talk to me for once. He's always so evasive when it comes to us and where we stand.

Oh. Oops. I slipped up back there in thought. About the love confession . . . I'm not sure if I'm in love or not. But I do like him. A lot. And I think it could turn into love. IF HE'D FUCKING WORK ON IT WITH ME.

. . .

Sorry. That was unladylike. But I'm frustrated! I'm not even interested in the sexual aspects! I mean, yeah, if it gets there, great. But it isn't a priority. And, well, I wouldn't even know where to begin. And I don't think he'd want to any time soon, given how the other times for him went down. They can't be tied to happy memories. And I want it to be nice. It doesn't have to be perfect, but I would like it if neither of us passed out or cried. Again, though, it kinda scares me and I don't even wanna go into it right now. Ew, accidental innuendo. This gutter is more like a black hole.

I'm just . . . Waiting. As usual. For him to get home. It's almost one in the morning. He's late. And he didn't call or text me to tell me he was going to be. On one hand, I'm scared. I hope he's okay. On the other, I'm a little peeved. I got no heads up and he hasn't bothered to give me any information. Of course, I'd never get snippy with him. He needs to be cared about, not put down. If it's something really messed up, though, I may just have to give him a piece of my mind.

Wait. Keys. There are keys in the door. I can hear them. I get up from the comfort of my bed that has turned into a torture chamber for me since I sit and wait for him all the time, and stride down the stairs to the living room and sit on the couch, absently checking my phone as if something wondrous will appear on its covered screen.

When the door opens, I don't know what I'm expecting. But the look of "Oh, fuck, you're awake?" was not exactly what I was prepared for. I look up at him, searching his face for some answer, hoping he'll just tell me what's been up instead of me having to drag it out of him like a soul from hell, and raise an eyebrow in questioning. No reply. He just looks down, closes the door behind him, and kicks his feet against the dark carpet. Why is the floor so much better than me? Why does it deserve more attention than me?

I sigh softly and stand up, tossing my phone on the couch and walking over to him lazily. He knows I'm fed up with this. He also knows that it's not in my nature to call people out on things or be anything but submissive. I smile a little and say, "Ball's in your court, dude."

He makes a noise in the back of his throat and gives a tiny smile in return. Turning around, he locks the door and finally – thank God – looks at me, in my eyes, like he's ready to talk about all of this. "I'm sorry," he says, voice hardly above a whisper. "I've been . . . A really shitty boyfriend. Hell, I've been a shatastic friend, too. And that's . . . Not cool. I was at Gamzee's after work tonight. I needed to vent and I didn't wanna drag you down with my petty shit."

I shake my head and shake my arms in front of me in over-dramatic frustration. "That's what I'm here for! I'm here for the release of life's less than fun stools. You can count on me. But you never give me a chance to prove it. You gotta let me in."

"I know!"

I jump at the sudden switch in his attitude and he brings his arms to himself and takes a step back, hitting the door behind him with a small thud. I reach for him but he turns away and shuts his eyes tightly, unwilling to look at me again.

"I know," he repeats, much quieter than before, so controlled and careful. "But it's hard. I want to talk to you about everything, like we used to, but some days, my mouth doesn't want to move no matter how much I want – no, _need_ – to talk to you. If I could spend every minute of every day talking to you, I would. I would so fucking hard. But it hurts to talk at all some times. And it's a shitty excuse and it's not your fault or problem, but . . . It is what it is."

My brows curve up in pure heartache and it takes all that I have to not hug him tightly. But I know he doesn't like being touched, so I keep to myself and just look at his shivering form against the door.

"Karkat," I mumble sadly, crossing my arms to keep myself stern. "Just what are we? Almost three years now and we're in the same place. I made myself clear when I asked you out. I thought you felt the same. You were more vocal about it in school-"

"I do like you, John," he interrupts, looking into my eyes seriously, coming closer to me, though he looks absolutely terrified. "I like you a lot. Don't doubt that. I just have these weird issues to work through."

"I'm here."

"Thank you."

We just stand here, staring at each other, inching toward each other like awkward ninjas. Our steps aren't noticeable, but we're only inches apart after our short eternity and I smile my warmest smile and he gives his best attempt at one which makes me laugh.

"Hey," I start, taking his hands in mine. He jumps at first, but the look on his face turns to realization when he sees it's just me. God, what has life done to you? "Sleep in my bed tonight. Almost a month of dating and we hardly even share the couch."

"B-bed?" he asks, voice shaking like his warm hands. "I don't think I can, I'm not, we can't-"

"I won't do anything to you. We'll just talk until we fall asleep. Trust me. Hey. Karkat. Trust me."

His red eyes light up with a new-found flame, like he wants so badly to believe me. He wants to trust me, to be comfortable with me, to know for sure that I care and I won't leave him for some stupid reason. His face turns pink and he nods slowly, mouth slightly agape, hands finally gripping mine.

We've been living together since the week after graduation. We talked about it a lot and decided that it would be good for us to get to know each other that way before anything ever happened between us. I wanted to just move in where he was already living, but he blew up at me for even suggesting it. I was a little hurt by it at first, but when he told me that there were too many memories of something sick there, and that he wanted to make new memories with me at our own place, my heart couldn't help but beat a little faster and my brain exploded with the sweetness of it. I'm fairly certain I squee'd a little when he said that, but my brokenness has prevented me from remembering much else. With my dad and Gamzee pitching in for financial help, we had it made for a while. But I didn't want to leech off my dad forever, so I stopped taking his money. Although, my phone and schooling are still paid by him, but other than that, it's all me. And the deal with Gamzee, well, that's a little more complicated. Karkat doesn't _like_ taking money from his best friend, but he feels like Gamzee owes him, so he's decided to take it until the giant cuts him off. I'm not exactly poor, though, given my "legacy" (Dad's word, hence the quotes), but he won't take any money from me.

Our house is pretty nice. Two bedroom, two bath, huge living room connected to a spacious kitchen via doorway. Well, there was a door there, but we had to take it off to get our furniture through, and we ended up liking it better without the door. There's a moderately-sized bathroom downstairs connected to the back of the kitchen and an empty room connected to it and the back of the living room. Or rather, a room with the staircase. Seriously. Someone built a room just for the staircase. And it's a pretty big room, too, the same size as the bathroom, with only a winding wooden staircase with decorated white railing. It freaked us out when we first moved in and we camped in the living room for a few weeks before going upstairs. I know, we should've checked out the house before we moved in, but whatever. I was nineteen; back off.

The bedrooms are upstairs, the top of the stairs emptying out into another empty room, only much smaller. Like a tiny porch. That pours into a hallway, our bedrooms being on either side of the hallway, the bathroom just in front of the stairs.

It's pretty quirky. But I like it. Although, he hasn't been in my room at all since I finished getting it to how I liked. And he's never let me in his. So you can imagine the bubbles of anticipation wrestling in my guts as we walk down that weird hall to the right and I open my door carefully, looking over at my better fourth (get it? he's too short to be a half, haha! … sorry) to check for any signs of resistance. His face is determined, lips pressed together in a fine line, brows slightly furrowed. I bite my cheek to keep from smiling when the thought that he looks a little constipated crosses my mind. This is no time to be gutterballed, mind!

I turn on my light and close the door behind him out of habit as he looks around to see how I've transformed the room. It wasn't exactly a looker before: Pee-colored walls and dirty brown carpet, emptier than a teenager's mind. I repainted the walls in a deep burgundy and got a new smoky carpet installed. Of course, all a thousand and one things of mine from my room at my dad's house are in here, mostly because Karkat doesn't like clutter and he doesn't really like video games unless we play them together. Some things wouldn't exactly fit, but it's good enough. I quite like it.

I throw myself down on my bed and turn on the TV, ignoring his tiny snort of protest and patting the mattress as a casual invitation of the most un-advanceful qualities. Yup. No pressure here, home boy.

He makes a weird face, like if a cringe and a grin had a baby, and sits down next to me slowly like something will break if he doesn't go as slow as he possibly can. He crosses his legs and rests his head in his hands and stares blankly at the screen in front of him, like he's trying to avoid my existence.

I roll my eyes at his attitude and say, "Man, I can't believe it took so long for me to get you in my bed."

A small laugh leaves his formerly padlocked mouth and he looks over at me sideways and replies, "Me, either."

"Hey now. It was all planned out. Everything. From the awkwardness to sub-par conversations to the lack of speaking – all according to plan. You really oughtta give me some more credit."

"Oh, yeah? Then you did a fan-fucking-tastic job, dumdum."

We talk like that for another two hours, poking fun at each other and making fun of the stupid yet awesome infomercials that come on at such a late hour. I don't notice he's fallen asleep until I hear a soft mutter of my name between noises that don't mean anything to the rest of the conscious world. I smile and get up quickly to turn off the light, waking him up just enough to get him under the covers and out of such an uncomfortable position. I don't know anyone who can stay hunched over like that for so long, much less fall asleep that way.

"John . . ."

I look over at him and smile because he's gotten so chatty in his sleep and I wonder when that started. He says my name a lot. I wonder if he's dreaming about me?

This is also the point where I realize just how awkward this is. It's not really like how I imagined it. Not that I imagine it all the time or anything (well maybe), but I always envisioned at least a little bit of romance or something. Not that I have any idea what the eff I'm talking about when I say that, but being so far from each other in the same bed just feels weird. I feel like I can't do anything because if I touch him, he might freak out and go into some badtouch-induced coma or maybe he'd just get really mad and break my face with his zesty words seasoned with the spices of hatred and fuck off. But I've never wanted to do anything more than touch him right now. It's driving me crazy. I'm not learned in the ways of relationships, Vriska being my one and only and huge bitch mistake. I only dated her for those whole five seconds because I was so desperate for a relationship that I'd get with anyone who asked, mostly because I thought no one would. Karkat made his feelings pretty clear, but I chalked it up to morphine and loneliness. I guess I was really creepy with him, though, constantly hounding his friends for information about him and badgering him all the time via text to make up for the other walk-outs in his life. Or whatever Gamzee was. I was at the hospital with him. I know how rough he was with Karkat.

But I just really wanted to be Karkat's friend. I wanted to be someone he could count on. And I crushed that for him, too, before we sort of got it back. That wasn't a good time for me. But I'm glad we waited. I don't know if I could live with myself wondering if I was only with him out of desperation and he was only with me out of loneliness. I like to think I know him pretty well now.

"I love you, John."

Wait. Uh. Maybe I don't? "What?"

"I . . . Love you."

Okay. So. He's asleep, right? But he said it. He said it twice. That's more than one. What are the rules for sleep-talkers? Are they the same as drunk people rules? Like, are people more truthful in their sleep than awake people are? Argh, this is so confusing! I stare at him in uncomfortable dark silence, thinking what to do even though I know he won't hear anything.

"I . . . You, too."

Fuck. Really, John? That's the best you have? I know he's unconscious, but shit. That's just insulting. Wait, okay. Breathe. Is this okay? Am I even allowed to love someone after only dating them for three weeks? It's so early, so sudden. Can I love them but just not say it? Or what? Do I even love him? I love him as a friend. But the time that's gone by in my boyfriend hourglass isn't enough for me to feel this is alright; there's still a shit-ton of sand and it's only dripping slower and slower. Why must I be so inexperienced?!

"I love you, too, Karkat."

He rolls over and wraps an arm around me, scooching closer until his head is resting on my chest, taking away my very being with such an action, holding it in his hands for all to see. I freeze instantly and just stare at him, his face so delicate without his normal grumpy nature plastered onto it. He lets out a small puff of air in contentment and grips me tighter. That's it, I give up. I wrap my arms around him protectively and finally close my eyes after a full hour of raging insomnia.

Yeah. I made the right call.


End file.
